


Even Now

by Dagonet (TsukikoCurrier)



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsukikoCurrier/pseuds/Dagonet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy guessed that, eventually, you became numb to the loss of loved ones. That their disappearance from your life was as expected and accepted as rain on days with dreary skies, as regular as hours passing. He hoped that wouldn’t happen to him- how many times must the event be repeated before it becomes the norm? Was it like depression, permeating your life so thoroughly that you forget what it was like to care so much about someone that losing them was like losing yourself?</p><p>          If you felt it all the time, after all, could you really call it pain?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blackbeyond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbeyond/gifts).



          Mourning someone you'd known for such a short time, objectively, was fine for a few months- but a year or so on and suddenly the people who told you to let yourself mourn are telling you to get the hell over it. Maybe not in those exact words, but the pointed looks and aversion got the point across well enough. If you weren’t going to cheer up, or at least pretend, then you’ve got no business being around the common folk who just moved on with their lives like nothing changed. Like no one was missing.

          And maybe, for some of them, no one was.

          It’s not like he had ever been one to socialise unnecessarily, or to pull punches when delivering them, at least in Eggsy’s experience. Maybe he’d made a lot of enemies, maybe he’d just never let anyone in, maybe he was just a placeholder for someone Eggsy had never met. Either way, it seemed like he was the only one who had been irreparably damaged by the loss of Harry Alan Hart. Even Merlin had moved on and stopped seeming half out of sorts mere months after his passing.

          Eggsy guessed that, eventually, you became numb to the loss of loved ones. That their disappearance from your life was as expected and accepted as rain on days with dreary skies, as regular as hours passing. He hoped that wouldn’t happen to him- how many times must the event be repeated before it becomes the norm? Was it like depression, permeating your life so thoroughly that you forget what it was like to care so much about someone that losing them was like losing yourself?

          If you felt it all the time, after all, could you really call it pain?

          He got better at hiding his pain, better at smiling in ways that reached his eyes; he stopped drinking at all cos it made him want to run his mouth. Hid the pain behind a caricature of himself; eyes too earnest and clothing somehow even more flashy, he just kept to himself while making it seem like he was displaying his emotions for all to see. It certainly looked, from the outside, like he was moving on gradually.

          No one knew him well enough to tell the difference. Roxy would claim to, sure, but since V-Day they’d hung out in person only a handful of times- and before that they’d only known one another as enemies and then survivors of the same tragedy. Not the best basis for deep, honest, friendship- it could be, but they’d need more time. The world needed to get back into shape, so that there would be more downtime between missions, so that they could form an honest connection. A pint here and there wasn’t enough.

          He lived in the house of a man long dead and buried, he’d given his mum and sister the house Kingsman had given him. Some days, living in that house was the biggest blessing there was- no shame in coming home a mess of bruises and collapsing on the sofa when no one else was around to see. And it was closer to the shop, so he didn’t have to constantly take a cab to get to work- taking a cab always felt like he was trying too hard to be someone he wasn’t. He was still just a bloke from the estates who’d happened upon an amazing opportunity; still went out with Jamal and Ryan, helped them out in the ways he could without them feeling awkward. He was still Eggsy. Which probably fit better anyway, name like that was as far from the posh people he was surrounded with day-by-day as possible.

          And, speaking of, they hadn’t even given him Galahad after V-Day. He’d have rejected it anyway, if he’d been given the opportunity. He was nowhere near good enough to be considered Harry’s replacement. At least, that’s what Eggsy told himself late at night, staring at the ceiling of Galahad’s master bedroom in Galahad’s house with Galahad’s clothing. He’d have felt like a shadow, the same vague shape but none of the skills or content. Just doing whatever the real version of himself did, no real thought or influence of his own.

          But, truth be told, Eggsy would have preferred Galahad to Mordred. He certainly didn’t want to be constantly reminded of the fact that he had killed the previous Arthur, despite the fact that it had been an excellent replacement grade for his dog test. It was like an infected wound, red and throbbing, unable to be forgotten and barely hidden by gauze. Every step reminded him, oxfords clicking; _Harry is dead, you murdered a man, you took pleasure in it, Harry is dead, Harry is dead, Harry is dead._

          And then he wasn’t.

          Oh, sure, he was more scarred up, his hands shook a bit, sometimes he forgot a few words, and the eye patch was completely new- but he was breathing. Alive. Without so much as an apology or by your leave he’d waltzed in as if he had never left. He wasn’t even shocked when they told him of Arthur’s death, simply nodded in acceptance and sat in the vacant seat like he’d always belonged there. Harry sat at the head of the table, gave orders and mission briefings, reasoned and negotiated at international branch meetings; he was the agent he always had been according to the other knights- the best.

          Eggsy’s wary, though. This isn’t the Harry he knows- well, knew- so one of two things was true. Either the Harry he knew, the man who faked doe eyes to pricks and laughed at crass jokes, had been an act the entire time- or something was incredibly wrong. The former certainly was far more likely- Eggsy had only known him for a few months before he had died, discounting coma time, and the rest of the Knights didn’t seem to think anything was wrong. They treated him with the respect and deference of his new station, and maybe Harry was one of those people who was very professional at work.

          But he was _on time_. The first interaction between Agents that Eggsy had ever seen was Merlin’s “late again, sir,” and Harry had done nothing but smile. He and Harry arriving late for the beginning of his training was met with nothing but a “shit, we’re late.” It was normal. Expected, even, of him; and since his return Harry hadn’t been late once. He was early, even, milling about at the shop or HQ before seating himself a few minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin.

          ‘Merlin, tell me I haven’t gone mad.’ Eggsy wasn’t wearing his glasses, leaning on Merlin’s desk with his jacket unbuttoned and eyes earnest. He wasn’t entirely certain what he was trying to accomplish by bothering Merlin, but if anyone would be able to help him it’d be the wizard.

          ‘There is no evidence to suggest that you’ve gone mad, Eggsy, but I cannot guarantee that it isn’t so.’ Merlin pulled off his glasses, setting them aside on the desk before turning his tired eyes to Eggsy. ‘Any particular reason you’re wondering?’

          ‘Yeah, Harry. Something’s not right. But we probably shouldn’t talk about it here- fuck knows where he’s at, could walk in.’ Merlin blinks, expressionless, before shrugging lightly and putting his glasses back on. Lots of work to be done, you know.

          ‘Oi, you’re just gonna ignore me? What’s that about?’

          ‘Well you did just say we shouldn’t talk here, you figure it out. You’re a spy, for fuck’s sake.’ Merlin didn’t look away from his screens, but passed Eggsy a small notepad with an address and time written on it. He slips the sheet of paper into a pocket before sauntering out of HQ, nodding to Harry and Kay who were having a hushed conversation down the hall. He and Harry locked eyes, and Eggsy felt a chill go up his spine. He felt frozen, like prey that’s just realised it’s being watched, and _that’s_ when Eggsy realises what’s so _off_ about Harry.

          His eyes.

          There’s no joy, no sadness, just the flat blankness that Eggsy had only ever associated with the dead. The eyes widen and narrow at the appropriate moments, obviously knowing cues but not really feeling the emotion they’re pretending to have. He was overacting. There was still thought, oh yes, calculation and logic and a thousand other things but none of them had depth. No sympathy, or empathy, just bland acceptance. Hollow. Not totally unlike his own when he looked in the mirror before pretending to be okay, but somehow worse, because they weren’t even _trying_.

          When Eggsy gets to the address that evening, he’s already gone through anger and denial and a thousand other emotions he’d nearly forgotten he could feel. He feels like a shell of himself, somehow worse than he did when Harry was actually dead. And, well, he guessed that _his_ Harry still was. Merlin was already there, putting his glasses in a small case before looking up, fingers pulling a flask from somewhere beneath the table.

          ‘I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m going to need this. And maybe you will, too. So, sit down- what about Harry has you all out of sorts?’ There’s a kind of blandness to Merlin’s eyes, as well; not like Harry’s, there’s still humour and worry and anxiety in Merlin’s eyes. More differences. Merlin takes a pull from the flask before passing it over, and Eggsy has a small sip before handing it back- he doesn’t need that much. He takes it more as a gesture than anything.

          ‘Merlin, how long have ya known Harry?’ Eggsy sits down, sitting more stiffly than he ever has before. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to be sure he only has to do it once; make sure Merlin’s taking him seriously.

          ‘Longer than you’ve been alive, Eggsy.’ He looks

          ‘And you don’ see anythin’ wrong with him since he came back?’ There’s a pause,  a shocked breath from the other side of the table, and that’s enough for Eggsy to keep going. ‘He came back from Kentucky and none of us knew where he was. We’d buried him, and you lot had all moved on and then he waltzes in. He takes over as Arthur without complaint or even being asked, he finishes his paperwork, he’s _on time to meetings._ He’s even early. You can’t tell me that you don’t see somethin' wrong with that. Never mind his eyes.’ He runs a hand over his face, sinking into the chair, all thought of professionalism lost. He’s _tired_ , drained in a way he’d only ever associated with running from Dean and damn are emotions exhausting.

          ‘His eyes, Eggsy?’ Merlin was fully engaged, now, leaning forward as if Eggsy were whispering and he was struggling to hear.

          ‘Well, they’re kind of dead, aren’t they?’ Eggsy meets Merlin’s eyes, sad smirk on his face. ‘I see that look every day, bruv, I’d know it anywhere. Except he ain’t depressed, or suicidal- he’s just not feelin’ _anything_.’

          ‘And that’s a problem?’

          ‘Well it means he’s got no morals, don’t it? He’s got no gut feelings, no sympathy, so restraint... he can’t care about anything, he does shit without thinkin’ ‘bout it. No sense of consequences, just in-the-moment decisions based on whatever facts have been presented to him. He’ll do whatever’s easiest from what he sees cos he won’t feel the need to get more facts or find another way.’

          ‘Some would say that all of those things are wonderful in the business of secret agencies.’

          ‘You ain’t some people, mate. You’re the wizard; you’ve got your eyes and ears everywhere, and you’ve gotta think about consequences and contingencies all the things the Knights forget. And...’ Eggsy broke eye contact, finding the tabletop far more interesting as his hands fidgeted in his lap, ‘And you’re able to make the tough calls. And this is definitely a tough call, mate.’ He hated himself for even thinking about this, but if there was one thing Eggsy had learned from V-Day it was that tough calls had to be made.

          He didn’t kill Chester King on a whim, after all. He could have sat back and died, let Arthur and Valentine skip off together into a blood stained sunset. When he’d said he’d rather be with Harry he had meant it, and fuck had he _wanted_ to be with Harry- but his mum and sister came first. Valentine’s scheme would get them killed. So he set aside what he actually wanted and killed the fucker. It was one thing he knew he could do right- being underestimated nearly guaranteed success.

          ‘Well you’re certainly right about that, lad- this is an incredibly tough decision. I’d noticed something was off, but I think I was too happy to see my oldest friend back from the grave to question too deeply. That bullet might not have finished him off, but combined with the impact on the concrete... It’s not impossible that something more than a few twitches and missing words is wrong.’ Merlin took another pull from the flask, setting it on the table after with a tired sigh.

          ‘So... What are we going to do?’

          ‘The best we can, Eggsy. The best we can.’

          It’s months later that a decision is actually made and Eggsy’s sitting in Harry’s office, a few fingers of scotch split between them and the empty decanter on the desk. It’s a bland discussion, a slap on the wrist for Eggsy blowing up a building while in Dubai and a celebratory drink for a successful mission. There’s no laughter, none of the chemistry from that night after the train test. Light smirks, clinking of glasses, but no quips- if Eggsy had not already known something was wrong he certainly would now. Harry’s doing what he thinks he should as a mentor and friend, but it’s slightly terrifying to see the man try to grin without it showing in his eyes. Eggsy misses their warmth.

          Beneath the table, Eggsy fingers the trigger of the fountain pen he’d nicked from dressing room three, only half wishing that it was a joke pen that would instead squirt ink all over his fingers. Contrary to popular belief, you weren’t allowed to just take what you liked from the armoury, there was an inventory that you had to sign off you’d changed and you had to tell your handler what you’d taken so they knew what you were working with. This, luckily, was an exception- orders directly from Merlin who had covered up the missing pen by altering earlier entries.

          Eggsy flips the trigger, and in an instant could feel it working its way through his system. His stomach felt like it was filled with battery acid, his fingers twitched against invisible needles, and his eyes bugged open. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so painful.

          Harry’s twitching across from him, slumped in his chair with one hand shaking lightly against the desktop, and Eggsy reaches for it; he barely manages to grasp his fingertips. He looks bored, not at all panicked, and Eggsy knows he made the right choice- he only ever followed instructions as long as it suited him, after all. He can hear Merlin yelling at him through the glasses, and barely manages to breathe out an apology.

          Even after everything, he’d rather be with Harry. Thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me on tumblr at [AgentDagonet](http://www.agentdagonet.tumblr.com)


End file.
